


Part-payment

by Trojie



Category: RocknRolla (2008)
Genre: Handkerchief Code, M/M, Plot What Plot, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-07
Updated: 2012-07-07
Packaged: 2017-11-09 09:39:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bob finally goes out for a drink with Bertie, sort of because he owes him one. Mostly because he wants to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Part-payment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [treacle_tartlet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/treacle_tartlet/gifts).



In the end, they raincheck their drink. 

The shit with Lenny and the Russians comes to a head and before anyone knows what's going on, Bertie's wife's in hospital recovering from a gunshot wound everyone says it's a miracle she survived, and Bertie may not, y'know, _fancy_ the woman but he clearly loves her, so Bob isn't surprised when they don't go out on Monday, and when Bertie doesn't call for a few weeks. 

But he doesn't forget about it. Oh no. 

Eventually, two months later, Bob's phone does go. He's home, alone, wondering what he's going to do with his evening, when it starts to buzz. He lets it ring a couple of times, because it doesn't do to seem like you're hanging around waiting for the phone to go. Particularly if it's One Two. Bob is done waiting for that train.

Beep-beep-beep. Beep-beep-beep. Beep-beep-beep. 

'Yeah?'

'Hello, darling,' purrs a familiar voice, and oh, here we go.

Bob sinks a bit lower in his seat, can't help smiling. 'Is that you, Bertie?' he says, and doesn't bother with the silly voice this time. Without the boys here to listen and snigger it isn't funny, and after they got out of Lenny's abandoned warehouse it struck him just how much he owes Bertie, and that makes it not funny at all. 

'Why, who else calls you darling?' Bertie asks on the other end, like he's trying so hard to be casual about this. It's sweet. Bob wouldn't have even thought to put on an act for this. It's a drink. He's been out for a drink with men before - he's picked men up in bars, taken them home. It's pretty much like picking girls up in bars, except everyone's a lot more straightforward about what they want. 

Does Bertie feel like that, though? Or has he been thinking about this? Working himself up to it? Bob remembers Bertie's face when Bob demanded his phone, and feels a flutter of interest start in his belly. He lets it show in his tone and says 'Wouldn't you like to know,' down the phone, smirking. 'And how's Stella?' It's the polite thing to ask. Even if she was fucking One Two. 

He's over that.

'Much better, thanks. Raring to get back to work, as I'm sure you can imagine.' Bertie sounds like he's said that a lot, and like he wasn't expecting to have to say it again. That's okay.

'But you didn't call me to talk about your wife,' Bob says, and just like that, he can _feel_ the tension on the other end of the phone ease, now that Bertie knows they're on the same page. Oh, he's been thinking about this, hasn't he. What with one thing and another, Bob has almost forgotten what it's like to be wanted. 

'Hardly,' Bertie says archly. 'Don't you owe me a drink, darling?'

'If that's what you want,' Bob says. He leans back into the couch, stretching. 'We can start with a drink, yeah.' The rest of that gets left to the imagination. 'Didn't you say you knew a place?'

Bertie gives Bob the address of his 'little place', and they agree to meet there at nine. Bob scrounges a meal out of his fridge, has a quick shower, and slides into some clothes. He opts for the same kind of thing that got Bertie's interest in the first place, maybe a little less creased and a few more buttons done up, cos for all Bob knows Bertie's idea of a bar for quiet drinks after dinner's the kind of place you go to in a suit, but still, he's going as Bertie's bit of rough, right?

On an afterthought, he grabs something that he'd probably tell the boys was a hankie, and stuffs it tight into his (left) back pocket so that just a corner sticks out, so that only someone who was looking at it would see it. Maybe it's overkill, but hell. He's going out for a drink with another bloke. Might as well let the flag fly. And he wore it to Bertie's party that night, mostly to wave it in One Two's face, not that he even noticed. But thinking back, thinking to Bertie's interest, he thinks maybe someone else did notice, and liked the idea.. 

***

'Well, aren't you a picture,' Bertie says, beckoning Bob over and touching him on the shoulder as he sits. 

'I could say the same about you,' Bob murmurs, taking in the suit, the tie - supposedly office clothes, but even a bit of rough like Bob can tell Bertie's changed his shirt. He reaches forward a little to tap at the little silver cufflink as Bertie smiles at him.

'Can I tempt you to a drink?'

'Mmm,' says Bob, 'Lager, please. Whatever's on tap.' He doesn't particularly care what he's drinking. He's too busy watching Bertie, the way he moves, the way he smiles, and planning. He's going to take Bertie home, and he's going to give him what he wants. Bob likes giving people what they want. 

What Bertie wants, Bob thinks as they drink (slowly, because getting pissed isn't the point, 'drinks' is just the icebreaker) and talk, is for someone to make him do as he's told. 

'So, I think you owe me an explanation,' Bertie says, running one finger around the lip of his wineglass. 'Do tell me where you learnt the nasty little ways of lawyers for the prosecution, won't you?'

'By being on the wrong side of them,' Bob says, quiet and low and almost into Bertie's ear; the bar's full enough tonight that he can sit this close without looking suspicious. 'You know, I've got mates who'd call this sleeping with the enemy,' he adds, grinning. 'Well, drinks with the enemy, anyway.'

Bertie swallows hard. Bob watches the way his lips part on his next breath and thinks, _yeah. Easy_.

***

'Are you gonna be a good lad for me, then?' Bob asks. 

(On the walk back to his flat Bertie had plucked the blue bandanna from Bob's pocket, and twisted it between his fingers, smiling, full of bravado. 

'You like that, then?' Bob asked, and hoped that to anyone else around he'd sound like he was talking about the bandanna. He knew Bertie'd get it. 

'It suits you,' said Bertie. 'I'd like to see you try it on.')

Bob has Bertie against the wall of his bedroom, not touching him, just hemming him in, and is fuckin' loving watching him pant and squirm. 'Be a good lad,' says Bob again, almost purring it. 'Tell me what you want, and I'll make sure you get it.'

Bertie's fist comes up between them like a signal, clutching the blue bandanna. 'You know what I want,' he says, voice tight with control. 'You wore it that night at my party. You wore it tonight. It's an offer, darling, when you wear it like that. I want what you're offering.'

Bob grins, because oh, Bertie's smart, and Bob wants to do wicked, wicked things to him because of it. 

'You'll get it,' he says, and takes Bertie's arm by the wrist, pins that clenched, blue-filled fist to the wall. 'I promise.'

***

Bertie loves Bob's fingers. He takes two of them straight off the bat, and when Bob experimentally presses a hand to the space between his shoulderblades and urges him head-down, arse up in the air, he stifles a moan like he's worried someone will hear him. Bob wants to fuck the worry out of him, to fuck the dignity and the shame and the self-control out of him, until there's nothing but Bertie left underneath his hands.

'Oh darling,' says Bertie on a gasp, not quite breathless enough. 'Will you please -'

Bob still has his jeans on, cuddles closer to get better leverage and enjoys the rasp of his denim over Bertie's skin. 'Do you want more?' he asks. 

'I want _you_ ,' says Bertie, pretty forcefully for a man who's trying to fuck himself on another man's fingers. 'You said you'd give me what I wanted, darling, please.'

Bob grins at him. 'But you're not ready,' he says, pressing in a third finger. 'Trust me.'

Bertie pushes back, almost whining. 'But I want -'

'Do as you're told,' Bob rumbles, and the first time he'd said that he'd felt Bertie's dick twitch under him, sitting in Bertie's lap, but it's nothing, _nothing_ to the way Bertie goes now, almost limp, breathless, _obedient_. 

Bob gives him a fourth finger for good behaviour, getting him spread wide, in and out smoothing like he's polishing him, and Bertie moans and moans into the pillows. 

'You're so good for me,' says Bob, opening his fly. 'God, you're so good. I'm gonna let you have it now, babe.'

Bertie's burning up inside, and it takes everything Bob's got not to just tease him 'til he comes from the catch of Bob's cockhead around his rim, because he shivers when he feels it and opens his mouth without making a sound. But Bob said he'd fuck him, and Bob keeps his promises, and fuck, it isn't like Bob doesn't want to. 

'I asked you to take me,' says Bertie faintly, still playing a lawyer's game of stupid taunts like he thinks Bob'll fall for it, do something he doesn't want to. 'Are you up to it, Robert?'

'It's not me you ought to worry about,' says Bob, and drives home.

Bottoming out feels like nothing ever felt before, Bertie takes him so beautifully. Out again, Bob shoves his jeans down further so that he can get more skin against Bertie's, then shoves in hard. 

'Come on,' breathes Bertie again, and Bob takes hold of his hips. 'Oh, there we go, there -'

And Bob _slams_ home and Bertie's smile goes blissed out, his eyes close. There we go, yeah. 

Every time Bob thinks he's pushing hard enough Bertie doesn't stop pushing back. They reach a balance, but Bob thinks, slightly madly, that he's gonna get fucking rug-burn on his knees from the denim. Fuck. It's always the quiet ones, he thinks, but he says, 'Suck 'em,' on a wild impulse, shoving a hand somewhere near Bertie's face. 

Bertie wraps his lips around Bob's fingers without a second's hesitation, and Bob can't help it, it shoots straight to his cock. Fuck, he needs, he's gotta - he drags his hand free and wraps it around Bertie, jerking him fast and rough, because Bob can't, _can't_ come first, Bertie's gotta -

Next time though, next time Bob's gonna get Bertie on his knees. 

Bertie almost collapses into the mattress when he comes. It takes him hard, he shakes through it, and Bob can't take this any more. 

He fills the condom, shoved hard into Bertie's body, and wishes he'd done this earlier, that he'd taken Bertie upstairs that night at the party. 

Apparently he says that out loud, because Bertie stirs under him, lazy and smug, and says, 'Well, darling, I think you did a good job, making up for lost time.'


End file.
